Lila
Emma was still fiddling with my hair when the announcement came through the main hall: Lord Jackson himself had selected a group of high-ranking noble daughters for “formal introductions and private conversation with His Majesty.” It was phrased as a tradition, but it sounded a lot like handpicking.
Elena Ashford’s name wasn’t on the list.
I kept my expression blank as Emma froze behind me, comb still in hand.
“Seriously?” she whispered.
I nodded once, slowly.
Emma let out a low curse – something rural and unladylike. I appreciated it.
The girls who had been selected glowed like lanterns in the dimming light. Gold thread in their gowns. Dainty heels that clicked just so. Perfect smiles ready to spit venom at a moment’s notice.
Vanessa was first in line, of course.
The Royal
